At Swerve's
by Anonymous.Fragger
Summary: Spawned from a pair of Tumblr RPers. Cyclonus talks Tailgate into having some public sex at Swerve's bar. Lots and lots and LOTS of it. Sticky, public, mass overloads, Cyclonus/Tailgate.


"Cy-Cyclonus," Tailgate panted, "L—Let's go back to our hab suite." His systems were cycling repeatedly, his optical band flickering. They were sitting at Swerve's bar, over in a far corner. They had been talking rather pleasantly, until Cyclonus suddenly decided he wanted to coil his claws into the wiring along Tailgate's pack. Now, the minibot was a trembling mess, and his arousal was becoming too much to keep his pelvic plating in place.

Cyclonus' smirk was dangerous, "No." He whispered. Tailgate jumped in shock, and was swiftly pulled onto the purple mech's lap. Cyclonus' claws wrapped around the smaller mech's hips, shifting only slightly to grind up against his aft. "I think we could manage right here." He growled, leaning in to murmur into Tailgate's audio.

The white mech gasped sharply and covered his mouth mask, as if it would muffle him, but id didn't. "Careful, you don't want anyone coming over here _wondering,_ do you?" He heard Cyclonus say, and instantly he slapped his hands on the table. Luckily, the noise was muffled by the commotion of the bar.

Tailgate shuddered violently as he felt Cyclonus' plating slide out of place, his cord already slick and fully hardened as he slid up between his thighs. He could barely contain himself, but Tailgate settled into a more natural position, resting his knees on either side of Cyclonus' thighs, which were clenched tightly together. Feeling a little devious, the minibot leaned back against his lover, and, with the table covering the thick, textured cord between his legs, he reached down and grasped it.

It was well worth it, as Cyclonus jumped and grunted in surprise, his grasp becoming a little tighter. He let out a soft hiss as he felt the mech's deft hand start to toy with the slick head, rubbing along the slit and then moving to pump his length. He kept his movement slow, as to not make it obvious to passers by as to what he was doing. Cyclonus had to clench his jaw and half-shutter his optics to keep himself from snarling.

Tailgate trembled lovingly and leaned backwards against the larger mech, tilting his head back to look at him. "What's the matter, Cyclonus?" He whispered impishly, dragging his fingertips along the under side of the mech's thick cord. Cyclonus' expression did not change, but Tailgate could tell by the way his optic twitched and his hands tensed that he very much wanted to bark a retort, but either couldn't or didn't feel he could keep his volume down enough to be safe.

The smaller mech hummed lovingly as he continued to tease the mech's cord, meanwhile busying his other hand by grasping the cube he had been drinking from and pushing it against his mask to drink it. Tailgate's movements were nonchalant and subtle as to not draw too much attention, but he still languidly pumped the length of the dark mech's cord. Wrapping his fingers around the upper part of it, he took a few moments to flick his thumb repeatedly over the weeping head, letting out a soft little chuckle at the large mech's sharp tense and warning growl.

Letting out his own teasing, but quiet rumble from his much smaller engine, Tailgate swept his thumb a little firmer over the tense cable in his grasp, before giving it a long pump. He ruthlessly teased the larger mech, all the while pretending to be chattering along with him. Mechs who walked by could hear him talking about nonsensical things, while occasionally taking a sip from his cube.

Cyclonus leaned forward and muttered dangerously against the mech's audio. "You sure you can finish what you've started?" He growled, his hands slowly moving inwards, claws scraping over the heated plating over the minibot's interface array. He squeezed Cyclonus' cable a little tighter than required and tilted his helm back to look at him.

"I fully intend to," He whispered back, his voice low. He had been very uncertain at first, but after a pinprick to his ego, that had been inflated by his control over the mech, he was _not_ turning back now. He added a little bit of pressure, until he heard Cyclonus grunt in pain, then lightened his grasp and pumped his hand a few times to make up for it. He slid his hand up to the head again, surprised when Cyclonus suddenly grasped and began pumping firmly the rest of his painfully hard cord.

"Teamwork," Tailgate chuckled lovingly, hiking his audios up as high as they could go, just to listen to Cyclonus' attempts to stay silent. Using his one hand, he ruthlessly teased and soothed the swelled tip, giving short pumps every now and then, his and Cyclonus' hands meeting every now and then. With every pinch and pass over his sensitive cord, Cyclonus would utter a soft grunt and a tense hiss, while he struggled to stay silent.

"_Are you gonna overload?_" Tailgate whispered as quietly as he could, so quiet that Cyclonus barely heard him in the haze. The smaller mech let out a smirking puff of laughter when he felt an exceptionally large gush of fluids warm his fingers, dribbling down his white digits and along the length of the thick cord. "_C'mon, big mech… I bet you could paint the underside of his table,_" His voice was low and incredibly aroused, making Cyclonus' need pulse and produce even more liquid.

"_Tailgate,_" He heard the mech growl deeply behind him, able to feel it more than hear it. It almost seemed like a warning, but at the same time, Tailgate could tell it was also an utterance from passion. He urged the overload by twisting his wrist to give an exotic pump around the slick head, and he even rolled his hips forward subtly to slide against the top of the painfully hard cord.

The minibot looked around the bar, scanning for a quick moment. Everyone was distracted, no one was paying them any mind. He set down his drink and dove down his other hand, sliding it down the under side of the heavily textured cord and plunged two fingers boldly into Cyclonus' port, while rapidly moving his palm over the head of it.

Cyclonus' engine sputtered as he battled to keep it from bellowing, and he _moaned_lowly, his teeth grinding together to try and restrain it. The reaction was instant, he overloaded rather violently at that. Tailgate suppressed his own moan as the thick, hot fluid spurted through his fingers. Cyclonus' other hand curled around Tailgate's thigh tightly, and he shuddered as the minibot boldly ground his overheated pelvic plating against his cord to help his orgasm along.

The overload was explosive and it caused quite the mess, though most of the fluid either splattered the underside of the table, or collected in a puddle on the violet mech's lap, which no one could see. Tailgate raised the hand that had abused his lover's port and took a moment to observe the thick, clear fluids on his fingertips before his hand was snatched away by Cyclonus.

With a growl, the jet did his own sweep of the bar, and after two full in-depth glances, he grabbed Tailgate's hand and pushed his fingers into his mouth to suckle them clean. He did so quickly, with in seconds, and then pushed the mech's hand back to the table. As customary, Cyclonus' cord was still incredibly hard, even after orgasm. Tailgate knew that working him up to overload first made him last longer for a second, and he always savored this particular quirk. Finally, his own plating moved out of the way, as he began pumping the lengthy cord, the massive amount of fluid making it incredibly easy. He shuddered as his own, much smaller but still reasonably sized cord slid up against the darker one of his lover.

For a few moments, they were still. Cyclonus leaned back in his booth seat, his plating hot and his vents quietly whirring. He made a tense grunt when the little mech began teasing him again, closing his optics as he felt his cord being ground against. Tailgate rubbed himself slowly against the top of Cyclonus' cord, barely moving his hips. However, as much as he loved to tease, he felt he had hardly had it in him to continue.

Leaning forward, Tailgate leaned his upper body onto the table in a bored-ish fashion, leaning his jaw on one hand, while the other flicked up the slick heat before he tucked it under his other arm to hide the mess. He trusted Cyclonus knew what to do.

The larger mech watched, his optics flicking on to see that gorgeous port being displayed to him. He rumbled his engine adoringly and lightly took hold of his own cord, teasing it against the minibot's port for revenge. He watched as the small mech did his best not to react, but his thighs began to tremble terribly. Taking pity on him, he angled his cord and pushed inside that eager port, and the two let out a unified sigh, if only to cover up a moan. Tailgate lowered his hips and settled on the enormous cord that filled him to his brink, but he would never change anything about it.

By now he'd gotten used to the massive cable, and he savored every ridge and texture that rubbed at his inner walls in ways he didn't know was possible. Leaning forward a little bit more as to hide the motion of his hips, Tailgate began moving, slowly, lifting himself up as high as he could without being obvious, then sliding back down that incredible length. Cyclonus had to fight to keep himself from watching as that velvety tight heat swallowed up his cable, so instead he focused on keeping a lookout for anyone who might come near.

Because of the nature of this venture, they were forced to move slow, working up to an overload was going to take a while. Somehow knowing this made them both more excited. Cyclonus felt a surge of fluid both around his cable and dribbling down from Tailgate's own and slithering against his port.

However, Cyclonus suddenly pulled Tailgate down sharply against his cord and held him still, forcing a tiny yelp from his partner. He coiled his claws against his thigh and growled. "Company." Tailgate perked up, alert, and stared as Swerve began working his way over to them, a grin on his face.

_Slag._ Tailgate greeted him cheerily, waving his non-soiled hand and keeping the other tightly hidden in the crook of his arm. "Hey, Swerve!" He said. The other minibot waved and stood at the other side of the table, looking pleased.

"Hey! Did you like my new brew?" The mech asked, giving Cyclonus a nervous glance but focusing on Tailgate. He was utterly oblivious to the fact that his friend was impaled to the hilt with the not-Decepticons massive cord.

"Yeah!" Tailgate answered, his voice shockingly even given the circumstances. "It's really great, what did you put in it?"

Swerve beamed, opening his mouth to say more, but a sharp snarl from Cyclonus cut him off. "Shouldn't you be doing your _job_, minibot?" He spat, looking as though he'd just woken up. It wasn't uncommon for Cyclonus to fall asleep while Tailgate sat in his lap at the bar. In fact, it was downright normal.

"Uh— Sorry!" Swerve gasped, leaning away and quickly turning tail and running. Tailgate looked over his shoulder, his visor narrowing in a glare.

"There was no need to be _rude_," He snapped. He slapped his hand onto the table and curled his fingers into it as Cyclonus bucked his hips, forcing his cord deeper and hitting the back of his partner's valve without warning. "Alright, alright!" The minibot hissed, carefully moving back to his pace, and this time, Cyclonus was pushing his hips up to meet him, clearly trying to speed things along. Swerve's close call had made him nervous.

Now they were both tense and working to stay as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn't easy. They were in a booth, in addition to being in a back corner, so they didn't have to worry about mechs peeking in from the side. Even so, Tailgate couldn't move too much or it would be obvious. Cyclonus kept his optics online, but turned their lights off, to make it appear as though he were dozing again.

"_Cyclonus,_" Tailgate suddenly gasped, a coiling heat collecting in his lower abdomen as his overload began to make itself known. "_H—harder, please…_" He whispered, curling his fingertips against his own jaw and the side of his chest when he felt Cyclonus' cord burst with heat within him, and he was rewarded with a sharper buck that made him need to choke back a moan.

"_Frag._" Cyclonus said, but it wasn't about the way Tailgate lovingly rode his cord. "_Magnus._"

"_WHAT?_" Tailgate nearly screamed, but he forced his volume down and onlined his visor again, just in time to see the second in command coming toward them. "Oh,_dross_, Cyclonus, you just _had_ to yell as Swerve, didn't you," He rasped, sitting up straighter and slamming his hips down onto Cyclonus so hard it hurt.

The jet grunted and onlined his optics just as Ultra Magnus arrived at their table. "Cyclonus, I'd like a word with you." He said darkly. Cyclonus opened his mouth to answer, but Tailgate's panic made itself known as his port clenched down so painfully around him that he was momentarily rendered speechless.

"Well?" Magnus said, crossing his arms.

"I'm all audios, Magnus." Cyclonus finally said, his voice calm, but the vents in his chest were nearly silently whining. The large mech turned his large optics toward Tailgate, who had leaned back slightly to look at him. He looked utterly petrified.

"Alone." He said calmly.

"Please don't," Tailgate's voice was soft. "I—I was just getting, uh, comfortable.. This is about him yelling at Swerve, isn't it?" The small mech asked. Magnus sighed, nodding. Well, since he already knew…

"I'm going to have to ask you to be more polite to your crew mates. If I get too many complaints, I'll have to take action." He stated, looking over the two. Something seemed… Off, but it was probably because they had just settled down again. He in no way knew or had any indication about _why_ Cyclonus was pointedly not talking.

"Noted." Was the only thing he got from the dark mech, whose optics were bright and very much showing his distaste for being spoken to by the large mech. Deciding it would be best to let Cyclonus be, at least for now, he turned to leave.

Once he was out of the bar, Cyclonus slammed the side of his fist against the back of the booth, and the resounding clang made Tailgate jump. The motion hurt them both, his port was still so tight that it _yanked_ on Cyclonus' cord, and the scrape from it nearly ripped Tailgate's valve.

Cursing in a very old dialect, Cyclonus slowly moved his hand to lightly pet down Tailgate's back, attempting to soothe him. The minibot whimpered and scratched hi fingers on the table a moment, before finally relaxing enough for them to continue their movements.

Somehow, nearly being caught _twice_ had wound them up even harder, because when he started rocking his hips, Tailgate moaned weakly and began panting hard. His visor dimmed and he purred as his lover resumed his pace of moving up against him. Tailgate began rolling his hips, not just up and down, but back and forth to bring more pleasure to them both. Now, they felt more bold; _two_ mechs had come and sat right before them, and not noticed a thing.

Cyclonus leaned back again, turning off the light of his optics, but watching intently as his dark cord slid in and out of that gorgeous port. He growled out lowly at the way the tense folds rippled over the larger ridges of his cable, the sight downright hypnotizing.

He let out a low growl as Tailgate's motions became a little reckless, his frame rolling in wide circles now, but neither seemed to care anymore. Their overload was just in sight, and they couldn't help but strive for it. Cyclonus leaned forward, resting his cheek against Tailgate's shoulders, wrapping his arms around his waist to slam harder ad quicker into him, while also grasping his weeping cord and pumping It rapidly. Tailgate's visor was off completely, both of them lost in sensation.

Tailgate overloaded first, and he muffled himself by nearly closing up his throat as he pained Cyclonus' hand and the bottom of the table with his fluids. The tightening of his valve drew forth the warrior's second overload, drawing a low moan through him as he did. He gave two more sharp thrusts before pushing tight against him to make sure as much fluid filled that tight port as possible.

When it was over, they slumped against one another, their vents whirring. They had both suffered a nearly silent overload and their bodies ached from the force it took to control it. "Frag," Tailgate's voice was quiet. "We made a _mess_," He rasped, sitting back and looking down at the gathering of fluids. "We'll have to wait 'til everyone leaves… My thighs are completely stained." He whispered, looking down a moment, then back up.

No one had noticed when they fell into a more compromising position, and the thought of that made the arousal kick in all over again. "Might as well make use of the time, right?" Cyclonus chuckled, petting Tailgate's side.

"That's my mech."

They had another six overloads each by the time everyone finally left the bar. Luckily, Swerve only cast them a glance, and all it took was a sneer from Cyclonus to make him leave. Letting out a hiss, the second the bar was empty and the lights flickered off, Cyclonus shoved Tailgate further onto the table and began pounding sharply into him with abandon, letting out the growls and snarls he'd been holding in for a few hours.

Tailgate sobbed against the table, his port gloriously raw from the repeated fragging, and he had one more in him before he would pass out from it. Cyclonus was not slow anymore, no, his pace was rough and faster than Tailgate had ever thought possible.

Clawing at the table, the minibot bucked back against him, pleading out for rougher treatment. Cyclonus snarled loudly and pinned down the mech's arms by slapping his hands down over Tailgate's much smaller ones, and leaning down to bite sharply on the back of his neck to keep him still.

"_Frag, _Cyclonus!" Tailgate's voice rasped as he nearly screamed, earning him a harder bite that left dents in his neck. "_Yes,_" He mewled, letting out a series of soft sobs as Cyclonus angled his hips to start smashing into the back of his port repeatedly.

This time, when they overloaded, it was intense and they _roared_ out together, Tailgate letting out a shriek and Cyclonus producing a muffled bellow around the tense neck in his mouth. When he _finally_ pulled back, the amount of fluid that flooded out of the roughly 'faced mimibot was… Alarming. It dribbled down his thighs for nearly a full minute before finally coming to a stop, and Cyclonus just fell back against the booth and watched.

"…We've _got_ to clean this up," Cyclonus grunted, looking to the utterly _filthy_ mech slumped over the table. "Tailgate?" He was already in recharge, leaving Cyclonus to clean up the mess. He was almost angry, but, Tailgate _had_ done most of the work for their first six [in his case, seven] overloads. He sighed and leaned back against the booth for a moment, savoring the sight and the still fading pleasure. Finally, he pulled himself up and went about cleaning up. It took longer than he would've liked, but when he was finished, all evidence was gone. He plucked up Tailgate, who curled up into his arms and headed out back toward their hab suite.

They were going to sleep _very well_ this night, that was for certain.


End file.
